The Late Arrival
by Regann
Summary: COMPLETE. On the day two heros wed, a young woman arrives too late. Sometimes, later isn't better than never. For anybody.


**The Late Arrival**

  
  


As if the gods themselves had smiled down to bless the young couple, the sky was blue and the sun shone radiantly for the day on which Cloud Strife was to marry Tifa Lockhart.  


The golden light splashed through the intricate stained glass windows of the pristine church, the one newly built in Kalm in the year which followed the destruction of Meteor. Religion, along with many of the older, less harmful ways, had been recovered by the new society which now existed without Mako, with ShinRa and without the ominous presence of Midgar looming over them. When Death had kissed the planet only to flee once again, Hope had been found among the ruins and ashes.   


The church was a small one, built only for the few residents of the small, medieval town. But it was filled to the brim on that clear, spring morning to see such a revered event -- how often did the young handsome savior of the world marry the equally young and beautiful savioress? It was something out of picture books, the stuff of ancient fairy tales about Good and Evil, Love and Triumph.   


It was also about Sacrifice and Wisdom, although few among those adoring crowds truly understood that.   


As people did the church, flowers poured forth from every corner of the gardens cultivated around the church, pinks and blues and butter-yellows like drops of rainbow color against the green leaves and darker stems. Pretty paths of round stone cut through the rows of shrubs and flowerbeds in white broken streaks of division. Nestled, almost hidden by the voluminous blooms of the pink Rhodes flowers was a small gilded plaque which was given in honor of that Sacrifice, to the girl whose name the plaque bore.   


Like the small forgotten plaque so was she forgotten in the days which followed the Triumph. People, like the crowds of the planet, wanted living heroes, not dead ones which only reminded them of the loss and the pain.   


So they celebrated and immortalized the heroes like Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockhart.   


And they forgot the heroes like Aeris Gainsborough.   


Handsome and serious, Cloud Strife waited at the draped altar with the cleric for his bride to glide down the aisle to join him. Dressed in simple dark trousers and high-necked shirt, he seemed _smaller_ without the ever-present armor and sword, but still as capable, as strong as ever. His blond hair still was rakishly unkempt but his blue eyes burned with a new intensity, speaking to the soul-deep changes which rarely touched the skin in so dramatic a way.   


When the organist -- a starched, pinched-faced woman from Mideel -- began to play the traditional wedding song, the crowds which were packed together shoulder-to-shoulder stood en masse, turning from beautifully decorated altar and groom to watch the flower girl dressed in a frilly pink confection of a dress skip down the aisle, happily tossing the petals behind her. She was followed by the a young, graceful woman, who also wore a dawn-pink dress, strolling sedately with her small bouquet and spray of white buds in her short dark hair. There was a liveliness in her movements which spoke of energy which had been bridled out of respect for the occasion, so much of it that it spilled from her black eyes and emotive face.   


Finally came the vision in white satin and pearls…the bride, the beautiful Tifa Lockhart stepped into the church. On the arm of an older man who looked as if he wanted a shave, she was almost perfection whispered the women, handkerchiefs dabbing at their eyes. Almost too lovely to believe.   


_Almost._  


Even more than the gorgeously-sewn gown which flowed over her full curves to sweep back into a long, elegant train, and even more than the rich fall of dark hair under the dainty veil, it was the happiness which shone in her features which was so breathtaking. Happiness and disbelief and the ecstasy of love and the glory of youth was what made her so much more beautiful than she had been before that day. Her whole body, her whole being sang of one word: _Life._  


The ceremony was beautiful, captivating the crowds as nothing ever had before. Every eye was fixated on the two young people at the altar as they said their vows and exchanged rings. No one dared to look away for an instant, lest they miss the tiniest sliver of the couple's tangible joy.   


That was why no one noticed the late arrival.   


She, too, was beautiful, as beautiful as the bride, but in her own quiet way. She was young but there was no glory in it, no shining like the sun. The late-comer was more like the moon, glimmering and mysterious, strangely elusive even as one looked at her.   


Not that anyone did.   


It was not joy which colored her face, nor was it the euphoria of love. It was the light of Wisdom -- not knowledge, for anyone could know but few can really Know -- and un-human serenity which glowed from her skin.   


If anyone had looked at her, they would have seen her beauty, but it would have been the kind to bring them sadness.   


But no one looked.   


Not only did she arrive late, but she arrived bare-footed, although her tiny feet left no dirt in its wake. Hanging loosely from her shoulders was the traditional robes of a mountain healer, although the hood was pushed back from her face and the red-triangle hem was carefully lifted up to make walking easier. Under the robes she wore a simple dress -- pale pink like dawn's fingers, like the color worn by the bride's maid.   


Her hair, a cloud of tangled brown curls, flowed like waves down her back, twisting and curling as if they tumbled on water's surface.   


She move silently into a small, darkened niche in the very back of the full church, each subdued movement of her limbs leaving the heady scent of flowers on the air.   


Even if the unobservant onlookers noticed the scent, they never realized its uniqueness and quickly dismissed it as the scent of the garden carried inside the pristine church by the gentle wind.   


In a way, that was the truth.   


Only one creature wondered at the scent, but the fire-red beast could see nothing through the tall humans which surrounded him from his place of honor at the front pew. But he caught it and held it to him. And he, for the briefest moment, remembered.   


When the vows were finished and sealed with a kiss, the women cried from the joy, from the beauty of the moment.   


The late-arriving girl felt delicate tears slide over her cheeks like rain against glass, but she refused to wipe them away.   


If anyone noticed, they assumed she also cried from joy, from all the inexplicable reasons why women cry at weddings.   


Euphoric and overwhelmed, the newly-bound husband and wife swept out of the tiny white-washed church and into the indolent bright sky, all smiles and laughter, a few tears brimming in the new wife's dark eyes while her husband smiled the shy little-boy smile which spoke of the chasms of the years he'd crossed to reach that church in Kalm.   


But the bride cried from sheer happiness, so unlike the bare-footed healer-robed girl who cried from Sorrow -- from the Wisdom which caused the Sacrifice which had caused the Sorrow. But most of all, she cried from Love.   


The well-wishers gathered from Cloud and Tifa Strife with handshakes and hugs, with words of advice and congratulations. The bright-eyed bride's maid soon slipped her yoke and ran free as young women often do, seemingly carefree on such a happy occasion. The rough-faced pilot who had given her away hemmed and hawed when he was thanked, but gladly laughed at himself as his companion, a steady brown-haired woman, gently teased him. The flower girl in the frilly pink frock chased butterflies which meandered across the green field under the careful watch of her dark-skinned father.   


It was Life at its greatest, at its most joyous. They celebrated the beginning of a new life for their heroes, a life of love and togetherness. A visible symbol of Hope for the once down-trodden populace.   


For one of the many, it was more…and less. For the white-cloaked woman who had arrived late, it was a literal new beginning, the day on which the Phoenix could rise again from the ashes to live once more. It was _rebirth_ -- one year and one day from the day of the Sacrifice. The planet's life blood had offered her up to the people as a flower is given from the earth to the sky in spring. As a sign of hope, she was returned. Like the warmth of summer after a long cold winter, it had been a reward, payment for their trials.   


A reward for her Faith and Sacrifice.   


But they did not remember her.   


The butterflies danced away from the crowds, following the odd path of tiny violet flowers which wound away from the church and out into the vast rolling hills beyond, which had once been infested by beasts. Now, only fragile deer and swift rabbits made their home on the green swells of earth.   


Following the flowers brought the butterflies to the girl's feet, where she stood, looking toward the sea, out across the white-capped waves as if she could see the continent beyond,where rested the ancient city which lay in ruins.   


Like her, it had been Forgotten.   


Marlene, the little flower girl, followed the brightly-colored butterflies which followed the strange tiny flowers which seemed to follow the footsteps of the bare-foot girl. When she toppled over the gentle swell of the hill, she saw the young woman dressed in healer's robes with tangled autumn-colored hair.   


"The flower lady?" she asked aloud, mesmerized by the wind as it played in the robe's folds and tugged at her hair. The woman turned at the sound of the child's voice, smiling.   


Her green eyes smiled along with her lips.   


Marlene gasped in surprise. Then, she dashed away toward the safety of the happy crowds.   


The green-eyed woman laughed softly, as if to keep from crying.   
  
  


*****

"Daddy! I saw her!"   


"Who?"   


"The flower lady!"   


"No, you're the flower girl, baby."   


"No! I saw the flower _lady_!"   


"Oh, you mean, Yuffie. She's called a bride's maid. And she's certainly no lady. I saw her, down over there, messin' with some kid from Rocket Town."   


"You don't understand---"   


"Marlene, baby, just go play."   
  
  


*****

Of course, the little girl's father did not understand because adults must see miracles constantly if they are to continue to believe in them. While he believed in the planet's rebirth, he could not fathom the green-eyed woman's.   


The celebration lasted well into the afternoon, until the sun began to sink toward the sea, the sky flaming in its wake. The bride was still beautiful even as the magic of the day faded behind her, and the groom still had the intense look of a warrior in his eyes.   


It was after the dancing, the traditions of waltz on the green lawns of the reception, when Cloud first caught a hint of the heady flower-scent which followed the late-arriving woman. But he, too, had forgotten miracles and so dismissed it, giving his full attention to the blushing bride at his side.   


Meanwhile, hidden by the crowds and the hood of her cloak, the woman watched the scene in sorrow, a part of her ebbing and flowing back to the city of her people, to the city of the Sacrifice.   


Something in her fiber longed to return to the Forgotten City and live there among the bones, which had been as forgotten as she had.   


But something else made her want to stay. A tiny part of her wished only to scream and kick and yell, to announce to the world that she was _there_ and she was _alive_ even though she had died to save them all.   


And, in return, they had forgotten her.   


The sun sank lower in the sky, and the farewells began. Rounds and rounds of people circled the happy pair, saying their goodbyes and good lucks and see you soons.   


And it was as he shook the dark-skinned man's good hand that Cloud once again could smell the unknown flower on the wind. And the gentle red beast at his feet became alert.   


The crowds tousled and rustled -- the scent was lost once again. Cloud shook his head to clear it, then waved goodbye to dark-haired man who had remained as quiet as the green-eyed girl for most of the day. Crimson and black, he melted into the distance with only a nod.   


Tifa stood yards away, giggling with her female companions as she tossed her bouquet. The groom turned to move to her side.   


And then, he was paralyzed.   


The scent ensnared him, wrapped around him like a vice. Gentle hands brushed against his skin as they covered his eyes and he could feel warm breath against his ear, blowing at his unruly hair. He shuddered from the barely-there contact, and he shivered again as a forgotten voice whispered against his skin.   


"Be happy, Cloud. Today is a today of rebirth."   


As suddenly as it had come, the presence was gone, and he felt colder than ice in its absence. The intensity in his eyes lit like blue-white fire and he wondered if he dreamed it all.   


Until Marlene, eyes wide and knowing, asked. "You saw her, too, didn't you? The flower lady."   


"You saw her?" His tone was incredulous.   


She nodded sagely, then pointed to the pale lilac flowers which grew in a small patch at his heels. "The flowers grow when she goes."   


Like a wild man, like a terrified child, he ran after the flower-trail even as it curved and rolled away from the pristine church, away from the happy, hopeful people. Away from his beautiful blushing bride.   


He followed them over the hills, past where the green dwindled into the white sands of the coast. The flowers peeked through the white grains, a speck of color against the pale colorless sand.   


Cloud followed the flowers until they disappeared into the sea, into the rolling blue-green waters of the ocean.   


And he wondered again if he had dreamed it all, but the flowers were crushed under his heavy feet and he could remember the warmth of her hands on his face.   


Cloud also wondered if he dove into the crashing waves, could he still follow the flowers until he found her again.   


"Cloud?" The fierce red beast appeared as docile as a overlarge house cat as he joined his friend, his fire-tipped tail swishing lazily behind him. "Tifa is wondering where you disappeared to."   


But he wouldn't follow, even if he could. He'd made a promise to someone else, to love and honor her for the rest of their lives. He had moved on…at least, in appearance. And he thought his heart had moved on as well. But would it ever?   


"She told me she'd come back," he revealed suddenly.   


Red looked at him, perplexed. "Who did?"   


"Aeris." Her name sounded odd and foreign, and his voice was rough as if from disuse, as if he hadn't spoken in the year and a day since she had died.   


"Funny that you should mention her," Red told him. "I thought I…I thought I smelled her scent. Back in the church."   


"Maybe you did." Cloud watched the sun turn the blue ocean to red. "I saw her once, in the church in Midgar. And today…she spoke to me."   


"Aeris's ghost came back for your wedding?"   


"No, Aeris came back. Just as she promised."   


He heard the echoes of the wedding party in his ears and Cloud sighed. "But it doesn't really matter now."   


Cloud Strife, the young handsome hero turned his back on the setting sun and the swirling sea and the continent where lay ancient forgotten things. Sighing, hands stuffed into his pockets, he trudged up and over the dark green hill, to join his bride and his friends.   


His life.   


Somewhere, amidst the bone-white houses of the Forgotten city, on an altar once used for prayer, the last of the Ancients waited.   


For Life.   


Or, perhaps…for Death.   
  
  


*****

  
  
_Author's Notes_: Well, wasn't that the weirdest thing you've ever read? I don't know what possessed me, except a serious love for Aeris and a need to experiment with writing styles. Funny, how the only person who seems very happy for very long is Tifa and she's my least favorite character…hmmm. Ah, so there it is. Please review. 


End file.
